


Hidden

by twahtohnedskee



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twahtohnedskee/pseuds/twahtohnedskee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t as if the contents of the box were particularly scandalous. They were small things— trinkets picked up on a journey through life, just like anyone else had. But it was these small tidbits that made Enjolras feel like he was being slapped in the face with the sheer amount of things he didn’t know about Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymously prompted ages ago on tumblr (twahtohnedskee.tumblr.com) by a very sweet Anon who I hope finds this regardless of how long it took me.   
> Original Prompt: "I'd like to request Enjolras finding a box where R keeps photos, old school things stuff like that and Enjolras being "wow" because of all the things he doesn't know about Grantaire; hidden talents, family things etc. (pardon my english :/ )"   
> Also, this is vaguely in the same verse as Old Habits which you don't have to read because it has nothing to do with this particular piece. As usual, comments and criticism are appreciated!

He’d found it at the back of the closet he and R shared. When the artist had moved in, he’d left a lot of his stuff unpacked (Enjolras had wondered, once, if this was because Granaire never believed he’d be staying that long) so Enjolras was used to digging through boxes to find things that may have fallen in there. Enjolras honestly couldn’t remember what he was looking for but when he picked up the battered shoe box, he couldn’t stop himself from looking inside.

What he found sent his mind reeling.  

It wasn’t as if the contents were particularly scandalous. They were small things— trinkets picked up on a journey through life, just like anyone else had. But it was these small tidbits that made Enjolras feel like he was being slapped in the face with the sheer amount of things he didn’t know about Grantaire. There were a couple of photographs in the box, a younger Grantaire showing off his braces, carrying a younger girl who, based on the resemblance, had to be his sister.

Enjolras paused for a while and frowned. What had Grantaire ever said about his sister? She lived in California, was 3 years younger and “five times smarter”. Grantaire called her, sometimes. That was all Enjolras could remember.

Slightly shaken, he turned his attention back to the box. He found sketches of boys and girls, not as detailed as Grantaire’s drawings were now, some of them faceless. They were a comfort, in a way. Grantaire’s art, at least, was something Enjolras knew well. The other things were more unsettling. There was an invitation to someone’s birthday party, a picture frame made of popsicle sticks, a ratty pair of hand wraps.  

Enjolras didn’t even know when Grantaire had started boxing.

There was a 8th grade report card that made Enjolras realize he didn’t know where Grantaire had gone to school, a watercolour landscape of a house in the country that made him realize he didn’t know where Grantaire had grown up There were seashells inside a glass bottle. _The ocean_ , he thought, _did Grantaire like the ocean?_ Had they ever talked about it before? He must know that at least.

He didn’t. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Enjolras went through each item frantically, like he was searching for something but everything he unearthed just brought on more questions.

A pressed boutonniere (Who did Grantaire go to prom with?), a cassette tape with “LISTEN” scrawled on it in black marker (Did he make this himself? What music did he use to like?), a keychain of a green slipper with “the bahamas” in loopy script (Had Grantaire been there?), a letter that Enjolras wouldn’t open (who was it from? why did R keep it?)

Questions and questions and questions.

By the time Grantaire walked in on him he’d spread the contents of the box around him on the floor and was staring at them in panic. Grantaire stiffened when he realized what Enjolras was doing. He looked like he’d been the one caught going through his boyfriend’s things.  

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t sound angry. He sounded scared.

Enjolras looked at him helplessly.

“I don’t know anything about you.”

“So you decided to go through my stuff?” There. There was the steel starting to creep into Grantaire’s voice.

“No. I—” Enjolras stuttered. “I was looking for something else and then I found this. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Grantaire agreed, “You shouldn’t have.”

“I know, but all these things. We’ve been dating for months, you’ve moved in with me, and I still don’t know…” Enjolras was finding it hard to articulate. His breath was coming in shallow burts. He felt like he was a second from bursting into tears but that was ridiculous. Irrational. Then why couldn’t he stop it?

Grantaire crossed the room, careful to sidestep all the things Enjolras had scattered on the floor. He took Enjolras’ hands into his own.

“Hey,” he said, gently. “What’s this about?”

“This is your life. I should know about this. I should—”

“This isn’t my life, Enjolras,” Grantaire frowned, “This is my past.

He let go of Enjolras’ hands to reach for his wallet. He pulled out the pictures he kept in there. One of them, together, a polaroid of R and Jehan from Halloween, a newspaper clipping of the one time the Amis got their photo into the local newspaper.

“This is my life,” he said. “All the shit happening now, our friends, you. That’s what matters.”

Enjolras’ heart rate slowed but he shook his head, stubbornly.

“But I still want to know about you. I feel like I’m missing a huge part of the picture here.”

Grantaire looked away. “You know I don’t like talking about it. I would, for you. But I don’t want to.”  

Enjolras felt a stab of guilt. It was true. Out of all the things, that he did know.

“I’m sorry, that was selfish. You don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll drop it.”

They were quiet for a while and it wasn’t their usual comfortable silence. Eventually, Grantaire started picking up the contents of the box.

“Someday,” Grantaire said. “Someday, I’ll tell you”

**Someday**

They sat on the bed, facing each other, a sprawl of Grantaire’s belongings between them. Enjolras picked one up, the picture of him and his sister.

“This one?”

“Summer of 4th grade,” Grantaire said with a smile. “There was a fair and Alyssa wanted to go on all the rides. She was too small for some of them and she nearly threw a tantrum. I told her she could ride on me instead. Ended up carrying her for half the day.”

Enjolras smiled at that.

“Your turn.”

“Tell me about why you always use your last name.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t the only one guilty of that but he indulged his boyfriend.

“I grew up in the city. I didn’t have any siblings so I never really learned how to play well with others,” Enjolras smiled wryly. Grantaire laughed.

“I got sent to boarding school out of convenience. I didn’t want to just be an extension of my parents so I told anyone who called me by my last name to fuck off. People didn’t take too kindly to that. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the first people who called me by my last name who I didn’t hate for it. When they called me Enjolras, they just meant me. I reclaimed it, I guess. I stopped insisting that people use my first name, after that.”

“I like Alexandre,” Grantaire murmured.

“I do too,” Enjolras said, “but I learned to like Enjolras.”

They went on like that for a while, trading memories like it was currency. Enjolras picked out something from the box. Grantaire picked out whatever he wanted. It was fair this way. A story for a story, a piece of the other’s life for one of their own. Grantaire was still guarded but his walls were coming down, slowly but surely. Enjolras knew how big this moment was. Grantaire was trusting him with his past, something he’d rather leave behind, and Enjolras was smart enough to treasure that. They’d both entered this relationship carrying baggage. It was time for them to finally unpack, settle in, and live.


End file.
